


Amsterdam

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: AmsterdamRating: PG-13Word Count: 946Disclaimer: I don’t own the Beatles, and I never will. This fic is, alike the name says, fiction, fake; it has never happened for real so I don’t see the point in suing me.A/N: It’s not really as clear and simple as the other fic I wrote, I’d say so, sorry for that. Just a little ditch I came up with last night as I was in bed already and seen as I couldn’t possibly fall asleep with this going on in my head I decided I could just as well write it down. It's set in Amsterdam, just because of the simple fact that Amsterdam's a city in my home-country.Comments & criticisms appreciated!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine, currently in locked status. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted pre 28 DECEMBER 2008.

I’m entering the hotel room quiet as possible, with Paul probably being asleep already. I know that usually when I come back, and I’m sharing rooms with George or Ringo, they are awake, but Paul is usually asleep long before I‘m back from these trips. Sure, the others sometimes join in but not very often.

I’m going to the bathroom, my fingers hurt and I wouldn’t dare to put on the lights in the bedroom because Paul’s there. Ashamed of myself, the police has had to escort me going to the red light district, for fuck’s sake. Beatles have an image to keep up, right?

My fingers are red, maybe because I’ve been walking outside for too long? They’re tingling and I barely got any feeling left in it at all. When I look up in the mirror, I feel humiliated by myself, by how I am and mostly by how I’ve been acting. It is killing me, the guilt, for I feel like I am abandoning Cynthia and Jules, they deserve better than the bastard, the fucking idiot I resemble these days. I’m a horrible father, husband, and lover. Sometimes I think that I have mindless sex rather than true love. The whores rather than Cyn. 

Like tonight, in Amsterdam.

After I washed my hands and face, rinsed my mouth because I hate the taste of guilt, I walk back to the adjoining bedroom.

Paul is awake. He’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at me. There is something in his body language that frightens me, I don’t know why. Nevertheless, I act as if he is not there, and I try to unbutton my shirt. My fingers refuse to cooperate; my hands are too cold. I can’t face Paul, he knows where I have been and knows how I feel. I don’t want to hear any criticisms of him, not if I can’t even handle my own. 

All I then think of is that I don’t want to go to them whores again, I need real love now instead of them, I have to call Cyn, hear Jules.

Paul nods at me; I see it from the corners of my eyes. I think it is a gesture from him to let me know he understands. I could be wrong though, but it is just something I have always presumed.

He notices how I am fidgeting around with my shirt, incapable of opening it myself because of my fingers and the sudden exhaustion that seems to wash over me. The effects of the amphetamines quickly wearing off now, since I am standing here. I don’t know what it is, maybe its Paul’s stare sobering me up, the awareness of him looking at me? It could be the shame as well. God, I am so ashamed.

I let my hands drop, limb next to my body. Giving up on unbuttoning my shirt, feeling too frustrated to do a thing at all at the moment. The room is dark; the only light shining in is coming from the bathroom.

‘’Can you undress yourself?’’ he asks me, his voice sounds worried. I shake my head, I tried but cannot.

Slowly, he pops the buttons out of their holes, with me watching. My head suddenly feels light, and I smile at the thought of how erotic this could’ve been I just hadn’t been this spent, if this had been by day, if I had been able to undress myself but just let it over to Paul. Then I start thinking about what those thoughts could possibly mean, and decide not to think about it anymore, they scare me.

When he unbuckles my belt, I feel my throat tighten at the thought of Cyn and Jules, what they have to think about me. I fail at repressing a sob, and Paul looks up at me. I feel like a stupid, silly teenage girl, lying on her bed and crying about the bloke she wants but cannot get. Then Paul wraps his arm around me, whispering in my ear that it is all right, that it’s all right to cry.

At that moment, nothing more than a split second, an idea shoots through my mind. The reason why I keep visiting the prostitutes, why I long for Cyn when she’s nowhere near and why I start getting annoyed by her if she is in my presence for too long… Maybe I think she is my true love, while she - in reality - isn’t?

Maybe it wasn’t a teenage girl crying over the bloke she cannot get. Maybe it was a bloke… me? Would it be possible, that it was me, crying over Paul, the one I could not and still cannot be with? At least not that way. 

Maybe, he is the one I love most?

I quickly free myself from Paul’s embrace, now too embarrassed to look at him just because of one simple thought. Hell, I don’t even know whether it’s true but still… Deep in my heart, if I’m completely honest towards myself, I do think so.

‘’You all right?’’ Paul asks me. I nod, looking down at the carpet. ‘’I think you should go to bed.’’ I nod again, and let him guide me. 

When I’m in bed, my mind races over my previous thoughts, the absurdity of the situation now. Me, in love with… Paul? Still, just to think that is making me smile, it is making me feel oddly giddy, is making me feel slightly nervous and very excited. I shiver, my bed is cold, and then decide that I will just keep this for myself for a while. My little secret.


End file.
